


Nostalgia

by Nary



Category: Blackadder
Genre: British Comedy, Comedy, Double Entendre, Gen, Innuendo, Mostly Dialogue, Silly, World War I, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edmund sniffed theatrically.  "George, all I can smell in this blasted hellhole is smoke, eau de locker room, and Private Baldrick's moldy socks."</p><p>Baldrick perked up his ears.  "It's not socks, sir, that's my breakfast surprise."</p><p>"Ah.  I shall refrain from asking what the `surprise' is."</p><p>"That's for the best, sir! You wouldn't want to ruin it."</p><p>"I fear it's already far too late for that, Baldrick."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nostalgia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edna_blackadder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edna_blackadder/gifts).



George sighed windily.

The captain looked up, gave him the patented beady eye and arched eyebrow, and went back to polishing his boots.

George sighed again, this time so heavily that his shoulders slumped even as his hair fluttered in the breeze emerging from between his flapping lips.

Edmund stifled a sigh himself. "By any chance, is something bothering you, lieutenant?"

"Well, sir, now that you mention it, there bally well is!" said George, obviously pleased to have been asked. "This weather..."

"You mean the forecast that calls for perpetual drizzle, eight inches of mud, and a seventeen percent chance of fiery death from above?"

"No sir, the spring air, sir! Can't you smell it?"

Edmund sniffed theatrically. "George, all I can smell in this blasted hellhole is smoke, eau de locker room, and Private Baldrick's moldy socks."

Baldrick perked up his ears. "It's not socks, sir, that's my breakfast surprise."

"Ah. I shall refrain from asking what the `surprise' is."

"That's for the best, sir! You wouldn't want to ruin it."

"I fear it's already far too late for that, Baldrick. So, George, somehow you are scenting spring in this rancid air?"

"I am, sir. And spring always makes me nostalgic for school."

"I didn't know it was physically possible to be nostalgic for school."

"Oh yes, sir! It's just the start of Trinity term, and that means cricket, lumpy porridge, fagging, caning..."

"In the unlikely event that we ever get leave again, lieutenant, I'll be sure to bring you to Mistress Mollie's in Cheapside. She can take care of most of that.... Perhaps not the porridge."

"It just wouldn't be the same without the porridge, sir." George rested his chin in his hands, discouraged.

"We'll put in a special request, then."

George brightened immediately. "Thank you, sir!"

"Yes, well, anything to stop you moping. Baldrick, do _you_ ever miss school?" 

"I didn't go to what you could call a proper `school', sir. I learned a trade instead."

Edmund looked mildly surprised. "A trade? You mean you actually have practical skills of some sort?"

"Oh yes, sir. I was apprenticed to the head scavenger of Shepherds Bush for seven years."

"It took you seven years to learn how to pick up crap?"

"Not only crap, sir! Also rags, bones, rancid vegetables, buckets of urine... it was a very complex trade, sir."

"I can see that. So why did you leave it?"

"Oh, well, not much opportunity for advancement, sir."

"Not like in the army?" said Edmund dryly.

"Exactly, sir! Why, even a humble tommy like myself, sir, could someday rise to be general!"

"And would likely do just about as well," muttered Edmund under his breath.

"And besides," Baldrick continued, "our customers seemed to have a hard time telling where to throw the dog turds when I was driving the cart. They always seemed to end up on me, somehow, sir."

"Fascinating!" said George, who had taken out his cricket bat and was lovingly polishing its well-worn surface. "It must be so rewarding to have a trade you can fall back on."

"Somehow I doubt you'd like to fall back on Private Baldrick's trade, George. Could be rather messy."

"Well, perhaps so, sir. It does sound a bit...rough."

"Lieutenant, I wouldn't think you'd be the sort to turn up your nose at a bit of rough trade," Edmund said with only the barest hint of a smirk. 

"Oh, of course not, sir! I'm always up for a good old-fashioned, hard, sweaty job."

Edmund coughed slightly. "Quite. I'll be sure to let General Melchett know, he'll be fascinated. Now," he continued briskly, as the plates were laid in front of them, "let's tuck into... ah. Good Lord. Baldrick, where on earth did you find cottage cheese?"

"Funny you should ask, sir. It turns out that all this time, it was right under my nose. Well, not _right_ under, somewhat lower actually..."

Edmund stood hastily. "Right! No time for breakfast, I'm off. If Darling happens to stop by, tell him I've popped over to Doris's house to deliver a large package." 

 


End file.
